The Good In You
by melahdeethemighty
Summary: Hermione is fighting in the midst of the Final Battle when an unexpected encounter with Bellatrix Lestrange sends her 55 years into the past. All of a sudden, she is face-to-face with Tom Riddle, the Dark Lord. Voldemort. She expected it'd be hard, and she knew he was smart. What she didn't expect was to find a friend, a companion, and maybe even something more.
1. 1- Prologue

**PROLOGUE.**

Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the plot.

Hermione ran across the battlefield. Death was all around her-on the floor, still and lifeless. Soaring through the air in multicoloured jets of light. It's fucking _everywhere_ , the stench of it. Hermione hated it.

But this was what the final battle looked like. _The_ showdown between Light, Dark, and everything in between. All around her, witches and wizards dueled with every ounce of magic in them. Stray curses flew through the air, sparking and crackling. The less fortunate were caught unaware and hit while they weren't paying attention, sending them sprawling.

No one was paying her any heed, too busy fighting their own battles. That was good, because Hermione didn't want any attention. She didn't have time to fight right now. Her main and _only_ objective (other than not dying) was to find Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. The Chosen One. Her best friend. Conveniently, he was nowhere to be seen. Brilliant.

Hermione was tired. She was just _so_ tired, and frustrated, and all she wanted was for this fucking day to _end._ Honestly, _fuck_ Voldemort, and _fuck_ Death Eaters. Fuck _everything-_

" _HARRY!"_ She screamed. Her voice was cracked and desperate, breaking apart just like the last shreds of hope she was clinging onto for her dear life. But unsurprisingly, there was no answer. Just the yells and incantations of everyone locked in combat around her.

Letting out a sigh, Hermione ran a head through her unkempt mane of hair. There was just so much going on right now, and it all seemed...surreal. It couldn't really be happening. She allowed her eyes to shut for a few brief seconds before opening them again with renewed vigor. She was going to _find_ Harry. She took a step forward, determination blazing in her mocha-colored eyes, when-

" _Petrificus Totalus!"_ A sharp, high-pitched voice trilled. Hermione's body froze against her will, dropping to the ground unceremoniously with a painful _thunk._

But the throbbing pain in her head from the fall wasn't the problem. No, compared to what was happening to right now, she wouldn't even call it a nuisance. The _real_ problem in front of her was who had paralyzed her, the fucking psychopath Death Eater who was head-over-heels in love with Voldemort. Because Hermione could never have forgotten her voice, even if she wished. Oh, and how she _wished._

The scars on her arm tingled.

Bellatrix Lestrange bent over Hermione's immobilized body, a smug smirk planted firmly on her face because she knew she was _fully_ in control. Hermione was glad she was petrified, because she was about to lose it.

"Awwwww," The older woman crouched down to Hermione and stroked her chin with a long fingernail. _get away, get away, get away, get away_

"Itty-bitty Hermione's in twubble, isn't she?" She simpered. _how could i have been so careless? this can't be happening_

"You really thought you had gotten away with it, don't you, Mudblood? _Crucio!"_ With one word, Hermione's body and every fibre of her being was on fire, burning and caving in on itself. Her eyes squeezed shut and fat tears started pouring out, and she didn't _care_ that Bellatrix could see her crying because all she wanted to do was _scream_ and _cry._ She'd be writhing in pain and begging for it to stop if she could, and the fact that she couldn't made it all the more painful.

Suddenly, it stopped. Hermione was still sobbing, quietly. Hot tears streaked from her eyes down her face, and Hermione could see Bellatrix's face twist into something akin to sympathy (fake, of course) through the blurriness of her tears.

"It hurts, doesn't it?" Bellatrix said softly. "You should know that you deserve every _second_ of this, and more. You are a worthless being on this planet. You don't belong. Do you know that?" Hermione couldn't do anything but whimper. Bellatrix waved her wand and suddenly Hermione could move her head.

"P...please…" she gasped. "...no...more…"

"Do you want me to kill you?" She said it as casually as she would ask someone out for lunch. Hermione's eyes widened, and she shook her head casually, an unintelligible string of words coming from her mouth.

"Don't worry, dearie. I won't kill you," Bellatrix quipped, her mouth twisting into a maniacal grin and her eyes gleaming. "I'll send you somewhere that you'll _never_ come back from."

The next moments were a blur. A wand was pressed to her forehead. Bellatrix said a funny incantation Hermione had never heard before, before a flash of yellow light enveloped her and she felt herself falling.

 _I don't want to die…_

Everything went black.

* * *

 **September 1st, 1943**

Professor Horace Slughorn was taking a walk outside of Hogwarts, enjoying the momentary peace and quiet before the inevitable return of students for the upcoming year of school. He is admiring a rather intriguing assortment of plants near the Forbidden Forest when he hears a strange _whoosh_ in front of him and a girl's _body_ drops right onto the ground, crushing the vegetation beneath her.

"Merlin's-" He gasps, stumbling backwards. Once he has gotten over the initial shock, he musters up the strength to take a closer look.

She seems to be an older student in Gryffindor, dressed in school robes. But Slughorn doesn't ever recall seeing someone who looked like this before. Additionally, she seems to be paralyzed and unconscious. Very strange, indeed.

Cutting his walk short, Slughorn casts a Patronus to the matron, Dumbledore, and to Headmaster Dippet.

"Perhaps Albus will have some insight into this... _strange_ situation," he mutters, before levitating the student's body and heading off back to the school.

So much for peace and quiet.


	2. 2- Shock, Comprehension, Acceptance

Hermione's eyes fluttered open to a blinding white light, making her recoil and squeeze them shut in surprise. Her _everything_ hurt, from her head to her toes, and she could see the light anyway, even from behind her eyelids. _This must be a bad dream._ All of a sudden, memories came flooding back.

 _"I'll send you somewhere that you'll never come back from."_ A flash of light, she couldn't remember what color. Darkness. And then light. _Too much bloody light,_ she thought somewhat resentfully.

Groaning softly in both frustration and pain, she gradually allowed her eyes to open as they slowly adjusted to the brightness in the room. She was lying in something soft, _a bed_ , staring up at a white she was certain she could look around without having to squint, Hermione propped herself up and looked around.

She was in the Hospital Wing. There were a few little differences here and there that seemed...strange...but that was to be expected, since this _was_ after the Final Battle. Supposedly. After all, she didn't see any other people here. Perhaps they'd been moved to St. Mungo's? But Hogwarts had also been roughed up a lot. She saw no evidence of damage here. It was good as new. How long had she been unconscious for…?

Hermione squinted at the Matron's office from her bed. It was the only part of the Hospital Wing that looked different, Madam Pomfrey's decorations and plants were missing, replaced by stacks of books and artwork hung up on the wall. Perhaps Madam Pomfrey was working at St. Mungos, or, _god forbid_ , something had happened to her? There was probably a perfectly reasonable explanation. And yet, Hermione couldn't shake the lingering feeling that something was _seriously_ off. She really needed to stop being so paranoid. _It's going to be the death of me._

Trying to sit up straight on the bed, Hermione bit back a cry as a stab of agonizing pain ripped through her midsection. She bit her lip as the pain slowly subsided. Her arms shook from the effort it took to hold herself up. Her body felt like a dead weight. Holding herself in place, Hermione mustered up the energy to _push_ , and-

"Bloo _dy hell!"_ She hissed, tumbling off the bed unceremoniously. She landed in a heap on the cold floor, helpless and unable to move. From afar, she heard a series of quickly approaching footsteps, and then an unfamiliar but worried voice laced with concern.

"Oh, dear! You're awake! Do be careful, dearie, oh…" Hermione is flipped over, and she realizes she was correct in her predictions. The woman looking down at her is dressed in the same uniform Madam Pomfrey used to wear, but is certainly not the matron Hermione knew. This only stood to strengthen her trepidation.

"Who are you? Where is Madam Pomfrey? What-" Hermione demands, somewhat confused.

"Madam...Pomfrey, you say?" She looks confused.

"Yes, Madam Pomfrey. She's the matron of this school." Hermione said impatiently. "Or perhaps was," she adds, somewhat reluctantly.

"Dearie, I'm afraid you might be a bit confused. You were hurt very badly, but we found you. I am the Matron of Hogwarts. You are in the Hospital Wing." She helps Hermione up, careful not to hurt her, and eases her back onto the bed. Hermione's mind was buzzing with questions, but she didn't want to push the subject. Not yet. So, instead, she asked the question that she was dreading the most. Better to get it over with.

Hermione pulled the rumpled sheets back over herself. "Did we...you know...win the war? With Voldemort?"

" _Who?_ " Hermione was painfully aware of the fact that she was breaking out in a cold sweat. Something was not right here. There was no way that someone could _not_ know what was happening. It was a sick joke.

"You-Know-Who. He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. The Dark Lord." A look of realization passes over the matron's face, and Hermione feels a slight wave of relief wash over her.

"Ah, you mean Old Gellert!" Scratch that. Everything just got a million times worse. "So, that's what you children are calling him these days. _Voldemort._ What a funny-sounding name!" There's a nagging voice in Hermione's head now, telling her something is oh-so terribly wrong. Gellert-she could only mean Gellert Grindelwald. And he was _dead._ The woman gave Hermione a sympathetic smile.

"Don't worry, dearie, you weren't out _that_ long. The war is still going on, unfortunately."

"War? Still going- but...we-we got him, he was at the school!-" A reassuring hand ran down Hermione's back, but the voice in her head was shouting. There were red flags _all_ over this.

"Calm down, sweet, calm down. It's all just a bad dream. Grindelwald is far, far, away, in France fighting the war. He can't hurt you now. You're safe here. Did he hurt you?" _Screaming, howling._ Her mind is tearing apart at the seams, trying to wrap around the situation. _Grindelwald war France still going on bad dream danger danger danger danger da-_

"Are you alright?" It surprised her, but managed to snap her back to reality. Her hands were cold as ice and shaking.

"Y-yes. I'm fine. I just need-" Hermione took a shuddering breath. There was one question at the front of her mind, begging to be asked. "What's the date?"

"Oh, it's alright. You haven't been asleep for _that_ long!" Hermione is clutching at the blankets, waiting for the answer. "It's still 1943!"

Her blood runs cold in her veins, and everything is spinning, _spinning,_ like the merry-go-rounds of her childhood except this one is sucking her _down_ into a deep vortex. The world around her blurs and distorts until she can barely tell who is shouting and shaking her. She is falling, back, back, into a pit that is enveloping her in cold. The last thing she feels before the darkness takes her is the thud of her head hitting the floor.

 _It's still 1943_

* * *

Hermione's eyes opened with a jolt, and she shot up into a sitting position on the bed. There was a face in front of her on the bed, pushing her lightly so she'd lay back down, but Hermione's gaze traveled to the figure behind the matron. It was a face she'd never forget. _The face of a ghost. Merlin's pants._

"Headmaster?" Hermione lashed out suddenly, arms outstretched towards her former headmaster. "Dumbledore! I-" And then she remembered why she'd passed out in the first place. The sickening realization drained the color from her face and she let herself fall back into the bedding.

"I...apologize. I'm feeling quite unwell," she mumbled, head down. She was thinking furiously, trying to come up with a plan. She would tell Dumbledore about what happened and ask for his help. Only he would be able to figure out some way to get her back to her time.

"I woke up, I didn't know where I was, and… I panicked. I'm terribly sorry," Hermione lowered her voice and averted her gaze to her hands. It was a half-truth. She'd recognized the Hospital Wing as soon as she woke up.

It was still a shock to see Dumbledore alive- and scrutinizing her, dressed in the colorful robes he always wore. It would be so strange to be a stranger to the man she'd once been so close to. Upon closer inspection, she noticed that his hair and beard were thick and auburn in color, instead of the wispy, silvery-white she was used to. The lines on his face remained, albeit much less pronounced. The fact that Dumbledore was alive and well in front of her finally confirmed the harsh truth she'd been denying inside herself. _This was really happening._

"Oh, it's quite alright, dearie! You were hurt so badly when Horace found you, so it's perfectly fine to be a bit disoriented. Yes, perfectly fine…" Staring past the matron, Hermione stole another glass at her-former? She technically hadn't even been _born_ yet-headmaster.

His clear blue eyes were alight, sparkling with something she couldn't quite put a finger on. At least that was one thing that hadn't changed. She shifted her gaze back to the woman in front of her.

"Now, you need to drink this, Miss…" Hermione hesitated before answering. She didn't want to use her _real_ name, but did it really matter? She _was_ a muggleborn, and 'Granger' was a common enough name.

"Granger," she said confidently. "Hermione Granger. And you?" The matron paused in what she was doing at this, and gave Hermione a warm smile.

"Madam Finch. You can call me Madam Finch." Hermione returned the smile, albeit very half-heartedly. Somehow she found it hard to smile when she had been transported fifty-something years into the past. Fifty-five, to be exact.

Dumbledore's intense gaze broke her out of her train of thought, and this time he looked more concentrated on her. Then she felt a barely noticeable, but still present prodding at her mind and she understood why. _Legilimency! Of course! That's how I'll let him know I need his help._ Hermione locked eyes with him and focused solely on relaying her message.

 _ **"Dumbledore, I need your help. I can't explain right now, but it's very urgent. Please. I need to talk to you alone later. I'm begging you.**_ _"_

His eyes flashed with surprise, before softening into a look of understanding. Anyone who wasn't watching very closely would have missed it, but he gave her a minute nod. Hermione let the corners of her lips raise a little in gratitude.

 _ **"Thank you so much,"**_ she thought. A potion was pushed into her hands, still steaming.

"It's Blood-Replenishing Potion. You need to make up for all of the blood you lost, so drink up!" Madam Finch paused. "Do you...by any chance... _remember_ what happened to you? You took a bad beating...Dark curses and the like,"

"No, I'm sorry. I don't remember anything about how I got here," Hermione lied. "I'm so sorry." She got a comforting pat on the shoulder. Considering she'd been Crucio'ed, she'd need a lot more than a pat to make her feel better.

"Don't apologize for what happened to you. Just drink this here, and maybe it'll come back to you when you feel a bit better!" Hermione lifted the fluid to her lips. It smelled rancid. _Good, there's nothing wrong with it,_ she added mentally. Scrunching up her face, she prepared herself. Better to get it over with. She took a deep breath, and downed it all in one gulp. She barely managed to keep it down.

"Now, that's a good girl! You'll be good as new in no time," Madam Finch chirruped, taking the empty flask from her hands. Hermione was trying her hardest not to turn green.

"Madam Finch, if I may have a word alone with Miss Granger here…?" a crisp voice said. Hermione recognized it as Dumbledore's. It sounded insightful and wise as she remembered, if not a bit less solemn.

"Yes, of course, Albus. I'll just go to my office, give me a shout when you're done." She scurried away into the office, shutting the door with a click. Dumbledore turned towards her expectantly.

"I do believe you have some explaining to do, Miss Granger." Hermione inhaled slowly.

"Headmaster...I-I don't know where to start."

"From the beginning, I suppose," he said with a small smile. "And you may call me Professor, for I am not the Headmaster-well, perhaps, not _yet_." He gave her a knowing look, and Hermione allowed herself a small laugh. Right, this was _Dumbledore_. There was no reason to be nervous. For all she knew he could have figured the whole thing out already.

"Of course, Professor. Well-you see-I'm kind of in a bad situation here," Hermione bit her lip. How to explain? Better to cut to the chase. "I was sent here-involuntarily, of course-from the...future. And I need your help to get back." He nodded.

"I see. You perhaps knew me well, in your time?"

"Yes, Professor. We were fairly close, and I was in Gryffindor." He smiled at the mention of his House.

"That would explain how quick you were to trust me. Do you remember how _exactly_ you got here?" She opened her mouth to speak, but he held up a hand. "Before you continue, do be careful to reveal as little about the future as possible. I find it better to...let fate decide its own course. It is unwise to meddle with time."

"I understand. So, in the future, there's a war. It's a war...sort of like this one, I suppose," Hermione concluded. "Light against Dark. I attend Hogwarts, but had to drop out before Seventh Year to fight because my best friend was a target."

"I was fighting in the final battle when a witch from the enemy side surprised me. She cast the Full-Body-Binding Spell on me, so I couldn't move, then she cast some strange spell on me that knocked me unconscious. Then...I woke up here. In this time."

Dumbledore was stroking his beard, seemingly contemplating something.

"Did you manage to hear the incantation?"

"No. But she did say something about sending me somewhere I'd 'never come back from'."

"What about the color of the spell?" Hermione thought hard.

"Orange or yellow. I can't remember." She facepalmed internally, cursing her past self for not concentrating more. Perhaps it was the fear of dying, or the aftereffects of the Cruciatus. If only she'd known what would happen…

"It seems the logical course of action would be for you to attend school here for your Seventh Year, seeing as you missed it. Meanwhile, I will research ways for you to get back to the future. It is in everyone's benefit that you return to your time." Hermione's eyes lit up.

"Really? Oh, professor, I can't thank you enough! You really-how do I pay-" He waved her off.

"Hogwarts has sufficient funds to support students in need, especially such a _special_ visitor." He gave her a playful wink, and she giggled despite the situation. Then his face hardened.

"However, Miss Granger, you do understand how important it is that you keep this a secret. The highest level of discretion is required, and even something _miniscule_ could largely impact the future. You _must_ control what you say and do."

"Of course, Professor. I understand."

"Very well. You shall play the part as an orphaned amnesiac. It will be easier for you to conceal your past under the guise of a refugee who escaped from the war in France." An orphaned amnesiac. That would be an easy enough facade to pull off.

Dumbledore glanced at a clock on the wall.

"The year has just begun, and I see no reason for you to waste your time here. I will send the Head Boy in to talk with you, but you _must_ remember-you are supposed to be a new student. It must appear as if you know nothing about this school."

"Certainly. I just-I can't thank you enough for everything you're doing for me, Professor. Especially since you just met me."

"Believe me, Miss Granger, there is no need to thank me. Hogwarts will always help those who require it. Meanwhile, I will make the necessary preparations for your schooling."

"Thank you, Professor. I believe you need to alert Madam Finch that you're finished now." He took out his wand and cast a silent patronus, while Hermione watched in awe as a shimmering phoenix burst from the tip of his wand.

With a final incline of his head, he swept out of the room with his robes billowing behind him. How dramatic.

Hermione was suddenly aware of the dull, throbbing ache all over her body. She didn't even want to _look_ at her obviously bruised body, so she observed her surroundings closely for the first time instead. She noticed her clothes and belongings neatly stacked on a chair next to her. _They must have already been gone through._ Her wand was at the top of the pile, but it was just out of arm's reach. She wasn't going to fall out of the bed again, so Hermione gave up. Seeing as there wasn't much else to do in bed, she sunk into the pillows.

Nothing to do but wait.

* * *

 **A/N: Sorry for the long wait. I've just been busy with-well, everything. I was hit with a massive case of writer's block, and i've been kind of inactive for months. I hope i can get back into shape now. Thanks for reading! Drop a review if you have anything to say, good, bad, or otherwise. Other than that, see you guys in the next chapter!**


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